


Mr. Trash Wheel Sluices The Blues

by moemachina



Category: Mr. Trash Wheel (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Alcohol, Charm City, Gen, The City That Reads, The Greatest City in America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/pseuds/moemachina
Summary: Mr. Trash Wheel said nothing, but his water wheel continued to rotate with thoughtful slowness, and his enormous googly eyes were soft and sympathetic.Of course, that might have been the bourbon talking.





	Mr. Trash Wheel Sluices The Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melannen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melannen/gifts).



> To fully appreciate Mr. Trash Wheel, it helps to [witness him in action](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4-9Yi3tnbg).

"Hello, Mr. Trash Wheel." 

Mr. Trash Wheel said nothing, but his water wheel continued to rotate with thoughtful slowness, and his enormous googly eyes were soft and sympathetic. 

Of course, that might have been the bourbon talking. 

"I may have overdone it on the bourbon," Charley admitted. 

She had smuggled a flask inside her purse into the Landmark. She had planned to share it with Julie and Ethan as they watched a movie with lots of explosions and robots and the kinds of villains you could immediately identify as villains from the way they sliced open an apple -- in short, the genre of movie that Charley generally enjoyed very much and planned to enjoy even more while seated between her best friend and the cutest guy from her English class as they all passed back and forth her secret flask, like the impossibly cool almost-adults that they were. 

Unfortunately, it had not worked out quite like that. On the bus ride downtown, she had begun to suspect that Ethan was directing most of his conversation toward Julie -- "Oh, you like that director? Did you see his first movie? Very experimental!" -- and the lopsided nature of his regard had become glaringly obvious while they waited in line for tickets. Charley couldn't tell how Julie was receiving this -- she smiled and joked back, and either she was just being polite or she was flirting as well, it was impossible to tell -- but Charley felt a foreboding sense of doom. After all, she hadn't exactly _told_ Julie that she had a crush on Ethan; she had acted like this was a totally normal friendship adventure with a new possible friend, ha ha, everything is super platonic! And as such, she couldn't blame Julie if she flirted back. 

"After all," Charley said to Mr. Trash Wheel as she lay on the concrete embankment and gazed at him across the waterway, "Ethan is wonderful." 

Mr. Trash Wheel continued to churn serenely in response. Endless waves of detritus -- bottles and boxes and unidentifiable lumps -- were swept ceaselessly up the ramp that ran into his mouth.

Inside the movie theater, somehow, Ethan had maneuvered everything so that he was sitting next to Julie. On the edge of the row, Charley barely waited until the studio logo had appeared before she began taking angry little nips out of her flask. She finished it by the midpoint of the film, when the hero was preparing a desperate dive through a flooding nuclear reactor to rescue his recently resurrected sister. She did not share any of her flask. 

"That was a little dumb," Charley sighed, even though she knew that Mr. Trash Wheel did not judge her. (She didn't know how she knew this about Mr. Trash Wheel, but she knew that she knew it.) 

After the film, as they stood outside the theater, Ethan had suggested that they walk across the street to the James Joyce Irish Pub. "I hear there's some live music there tonight," he said, looking at Julie, and Charley suddenly had a terrifying vision of what the rest of the evening would entail: being a third wheel as Ethan and Julie made googly eyes at one another. 

"Not that there's anything wrong with being a wheel," she said warmly to Mr. Trash Wheel. " _Or_ with having googly eyes. You have very nice googly eyes. But you can understand why I didn't want to be the awkward, unnecessary, non-googly-eye participant of that particular threesome. Especially because I didn't have any more bourbon left in my flask." 

The waters running through Mr. Trash Wheel's wheel were a commiserating whisper. 

So when Ethan had brought up relocating to the James Joyce Irish Pub, Charley had somehow summoned the inner fortitude to stand very straight and entirely upright and say, without slurring her words at all, _Oh, too bad, I'm supposed to meet up with Greg tonight, but you guys go right ahead._

"Greg," she clarified for Mr. Trash Wheel's benefit, "was the guy I was semi-seeing in the spring. Does it count as semi-seeing if you never ask if you're dating, because you're afraid he's just going to laugh at you, but he texts you all the time and wants to hang out all the time and you know all his secrets but, like, you've never made out? As if, on some level, you've both got to maintain some kind of plausible deniability about dating the other? Just in case the CIA tried to recruit one of us and wanted us to list all known contacts and associates, and then Greg and I wouldn't have to put one another down on our paperwork, because we _definitely_ never did anything compromising with one another, and it would be impossible to blackmail either of us on the basis of our relationship? Does that count as semi-seeing?" 

Mr. Trash Wheel continued to roll through the water without speaking. 

"Yeah," Charley sighed, "Julie didn't think so either. So I started answering Greg's texts a little less often, and then he went home for the summer, and when he got back, suddenly he had a girlfriend that I had never heard a single word about." 

Given this backstory, when Charley had announced that she was off to see Greg, Julie's eyes had widened in horror and she had opened her mouth, and so Charley -- summoning some sort of supernatural power through the combination of heartbreak and embarrassment and bourbon coursing through her body -- had stared at her grimly and thought fiercely in her direction: _Nope, don't say anything, just act like this is super normal, don't fuck this up, Jules, I beg you, just let me escape with the remaining tatters of my dignity intact._

Some of this meaning must have been clear from Charley’s expression, because Julie just said, with an edge of brittle cheer, _Oh, of course! Give my best to ol' Greg, all right? It's been too long since I've seen that guy!_

"In all fairness to Julie," Charley said to Mr. Trash Wheel, "it was a beautiful recovery. Julie is such a great friend. She's just great. Of course Ethan would be attracted to her. Who wouldn't be attracted to Julie? She is, after all, the literal best."

Ethan had frowned at Charley, who was beginning to sway slightly. _Are you sure...do you want us to call you an Uber or something...?_

_Nope, nope, nope,_ Charley had said, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and trying to pretend that she was rocking back and forth with purpose, rather than because she was trying to maintain her balance. _He's at the aquarium. Because he just looooves those dolphins! So I'll just walk over and meet him. Okay, bye guys!_ she had said forcefully, and then immediately she had turned on her heel and began to walk around the roundabout that joined President and Aliceanna. 

It was a chilly December evening, but the bourbon made everything seem hot and flushed and strange, and Charley only barely resisted the urge to take off her hoodie. Her chest felt tight, and distantly she wondered if she wanted to cry. Was this sadness? Is this how sadness felt? She had really thought that Ethan thought she was funny and smart and charming, but it had all happened within the confines of the classroom -- little jokes he made before class started, or the way he smiled at her when they passed one another on campus -- and then, when she carefully mentioned the film she was going to go see with her best friend that afternoon, right after they took their finals, he had seemed so enthusiastic and interested in going. And that had to mean something, right? About the way he felt about her? 

"And then he met Julie," Charley said, moving her hand in a lazy Z-formation over her face, "and then _poof_ , there goes my chance." 

Coming out of Aliceanna, with the harbor laid out before her, Charley had felt tired and exhausted and worn out. So when she had seen Mr. Trash Wheel right in front of her, dutifully collecting all the styrofoam coffee cups and plastic shopping bags and cigarette butts that floated down the Jones Falls River, she felt the most piercing sensation of kinship, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to sit down on the banks of the waterway, with her legs swinging freely over the water, and then -- as things started to spin a little bit around her -- to lie down along the edge of the concrete embankment. 

Mr. Trash Wheel creaked faintly. 

"It'll be okay," she said, with a sigh. "I'll get over it." 

The stars were starting to come out, one by one. 

And then maybe she fell asleep, because it seemed as if Mr. Trash Wheel was singing a lullaby to her. 

She turned to look at him, and it seemed as if he were a lot closer to her, as if she could reach out and touch him. 

Or maybe he was just swelling up like a balloon, growing larger and larger, until he seemed to fill the entire waterway.

She reached out one hand and ran a finger across his white shell, below the expanse where his silver solar panels were mounted. He didn't feel like she had expected, which was cold and hard and plastic. Instead, his shell seemed to vibrate like a warm membrane. 

Now that he was so close to her, she could see that there were a series of black electrical boxes mounted inside Mr. Trash Wheel. And around one of them, in the dim light, Charley saw something shift and move. 

"Hullo," she said. She knew that whatever was inside Mr. Trash Wheel could hear and understand her. She did not feel any fear or alarm. 

The stars overhead were all unfamiliar to her. She had never seen any of them before. 

"Greeeeetings," the shadow inside hissed. And then it moved forward, and Charley saw it clearly. 

"You're a snake," she informed it. 

"Well-spotted," the snake said, and maybe Charley was imagining it, but there seemed like a hint of dry sarcasm to its voice. "Not just a snake. I am an African Python. Charmed, I'm sure." 

"You're talking to me," she said serenely. "Does Mr. Trash Wheel know that you live inside of it?" 

"Of course he knows," the snake said, a little haughtily. "Do you think much escapes the notice of Mr. Trash Wheel?" 

Mr. Trash Wheel seemed to hum something. 

"Fine," the snake said to Mr. Trash Wheel, a little fussily. "I'll tell her." To Charley, he said, "You must be wondering why we have manifested ourselves to you."

"Well..." Lying on her back, Charley flexed her feet back and forth, and from the corner of her vision, she could see the white tips of her Converse sneakers moving from side to side. She felt very calm and very honest. "I wasn't really wondr--"

"Ah-hrm, yes, you must be awed and startled by our appearance," the snake determinedly continued, "but allay your fears, human. We have chosen you to carry out a very special duty. We have chosen you for a quest." 

"Oh," Charley said. "No thanks." 

"And--wait, what? What did you say?" 

"I refuse your request," Charley said helpfully. "But you can always ask me again." 

The snake regarded her sternly. "Maybe you don't understand the importance and gravity of this charge. It is of vital importance that you assist us. More is riding on this than you know. You will provide a vital service." 

"Okay, I'll do it," Charley said, sitting up suddenly. "What do I need to do?" 

The snake stared balefully. "Why the sudden change of heart?" 

Charley snorted. "C'mon, anybody knows that the hero has to Refuse the Call before he or she goes on the quest. I know how these things work. I read Joseph Campbell this semester. I got an A on that paper." 

"My most ardent congratulations," the snake said, but he did not sound as if he really meant it.

Mr. Trash Wheel made a noise, low and aquatic. 

"Fine, fine," the snake muttered. He fixed one eye on Charley. "Here's what we need you to do."

Something pale and twisty passed through the water under Charley's swinging feet. "What was _that_?"

"That's just the modular biorobotic eel," the snake said. "Ignore him, he's on his own quest right now. Focus on me, Charley. Focus on me and listen to what I am about to tell you..." 

* * *

Charley opened her eyes. The stars overhead were all the old standbys: Orion and the Big Dipper and the Pleiades.

She sat up and, as she did so, she realized she was holding something in her right hand. Hesitantly, she unclenched her fingers and peered down. In her palm, there was an orange plastic ring. The top of the ring was emblazoned with a stylized sun. The ring looked like the kind of thing you could get out of a machine at a gas station for a quarter. 

She stared down at the ring and something half-remembered, as if from a dream, seemed to echo through her mind. _...a quest..._

Absently, she reached into her purse and pulled out her cellphone. Thumbing it on, she saw that she had a series of text messages, all from Julie. 

**hey you're not really going to hang out with greg right?**

**you should come back to the james joyce**

**there is live music**

**it's very bad**

**it's a guy with an acoustic guitar and I think he may literally be tone-deaf**

**like i think he may have committed a crime and his punishment is to play covers of green day in the james joyce**

**also ethan wants to talk to me about cinematography and i am trapped until I finish this guinness**

**oh god he wants to talk about the bechdel test**

**oh god he's going up to the guy with the guitar to make a request**

**oh god it's for wonderwall**

**help me obi wan charley**

Charley stared down at her phone screen. 

Then, typing with great deliberation, she texted back: _join me at mr. trash wheel and together we will rule the universe as father and son_

In the water, Mr. Trash Wheel had resumed his traditional size. There was no sign of a snake, African python or otherwise. 

The ring in her hand felt strangely heavy. 

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with this," she told Mr. Trash Wheel. 

Mr. Trash Wheel did not respond. 

She rolled the ring between her fingers. "A quest," she said to herself. "A quest...?" 

Water lapped against the side of the embankment. The bourbon was starting to wear off, and so she felt simultaneously a rising degree of sobriety and the increasingly sensation of being cold. She pulled the hood of her hoodie over her hair and crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. 

Mr. Trash Wheel continued to spin. The waters continued to flow. Time continued to pass. 

"Charley?" 

Charley twisted around to see Julie standing behind her. She was alone. 

Charley gave her a half-hearted wave. "Hey," she said. "Wanna come hang out with me and Mr. Trash Wheel?" 

"Oh boy," Julie said, seating herself next to Charley on the edge of the embankment. "Well, you know what I always say: it's not an evening out in Charm City unless it ends with Mr. Trash Wheel." 

"I mean," Charley said, "it _is_ the City That Reads _and_ the city that throws all of its trash in the river." 

"Luckily, we've got Mr. Trash Wheel here to help preserve the Greatest City in America." 

"He knows," Charley said with a smile. "I mean, he's seen the city benches. He knows what they say." 

"He believes the city benches," Julie said, swinging her legs slightly so that her heels kept bumping against the embankment. 

"So," Charley said, with great reluctance, "what happened to Ethan?" 

"Oh, he's still back there," Julie said wryly. "At the James Joyce. He said he wanted to finish listening to the rest of that guy's _set_." 

Charley nodded but said nothing. 

Julie glanced at her. "I mean.” She cleared her throat. “I'm sure he's a nice guy." 

Charley looked down at the water. "He is. He's a nice guy." 

"Yeah," Julie said. And then, casually, she added, "But not really my type, you know." 

"Sure," Charley said. 

"Maybe you should have come with us to the James Joyce," Julie said gently. 

"Nah," Charley said. "I was good." She gestured across the waterway. "Also, I mean, it would have cut into this chill _sesh_ I'm having with my good friend, Mr. Trash Wheel." 

"Of course, of course," Julie said. 

There was a long moment of quiet. 

"What would you have done," Julie said tentatively, "if Ethan _had_ been my type?" 

Charley's mouth twisted to one side. "Oh," she said in a low voice. "Well. I guess it would have felt kinda shitty for a couple of days. And then I would have gotten over it. I mean, he's a nice guy and everything, but it's not like I really know him. Other than the fact that he has a lot of opinions about _Beowulf_ , I guess." 

"Yes," Julie said in a hollow voice, "he has a lot of opinions about _everything_." 

Charley snorted and elbowed her gently in the side. "Whatever. I like talkative nerds. I _am_ a talkative nerd." She glanced at Julie. "What would you have done if I _had_ been going to meet Greg tonight?" 

"I would have staged a fucking intervention," Julie replied promptly. "I would have hounded you to the corners of the earth. Because Greg is the fucking _worst_." 

"Yeah," Charley said, smiling. "I know." 

She extended her arm toward Julie and opened her hand. "Here. Look at this cool thing that Mr. Trash Wheel gave me." 

Julie picked up the ring and peered at it. "What is it?" she asked. 

Charley noted that she did not ask _How did an anthropomorphic trash filter give you a piece of costume jewelry_ and her smile widened. There was a reason, after all, that Julie was her _best_ friend. She was, after all, the literal best. 

"I think I'm meant to bring it somewhere," Charley said. "But I can't remember...quite where..." 

Julie frowned. "Well...if you got it from one trash wheel...maybe you're supposed to bring it to another trash wheel? Like Professor Trash Wheel?" 

Charley stared at her. " _Professor_ Trash Wheel?" 

Julie laughed. "Yes, _Professor_ Trash Wheel. She's another Trash Wheel. But she's down in Canton, I think." Julie checked her watch. "It might be a little late to be wandering around down there tonight." 

"We can go tomorrow," Charley said absently, and then she paused. "I mean...if you want to come..." 

"Of course I want to come," Julie said. "While we're over there, maybe we can hang out in Patterson Park? The weather is supposed to be a little warmer tomorrow." 

"Yeah," Charley said. "That sounds good. Do you want to go have breakfast at Pete's first?" 

"Obviously," Julie said. "And then do you want to stop by the Book Thing to see if they have any more books about UFOs?" 

"Of course," Charley said. "And then do you want to get a beer at Peabody Heights and watch all the little kids running their tricycles into the picnic tables over and over?" 

"Naturally," Julie said. "And _then_ do you want to go to Canton? I think we can take the water taxi out there. And then we can visit Professor Trash Wheel and maybe present your ring." 

"Sounds good..." Charley suppressed a yawn. "Are you ready to head home? Because we should probably get going if we want to catch the next bus." 

"Sure thing," Julie said, pushing herself to her feet and then extending a hand to help Charley up. "What's supposed to happen, anyway? When you present your ring to Professor Trash Wheel? Or wherever you're supposed to bring it?" 

"I don't know," Charley said, but even as she said it, the vague memory of a sibilant hiss and the words _...assisting the solar frequencies..._

"Something good, I think. Something I don't really understand, but something good. Something that’ll...matter in the long run." She dusted off her knees. It seemed like, now that she was thinking about it, more things were slowly coming back to her. In particular, she could almost hear someone whispering the phrase " _incremental degrees_." 

As they crossed the Jones Falls River across a narrow bridge, Charley looked back. They were crossing in front of the pale form of Mr. Trash Wheel, who was still swallowing an endless stream of everything that was broken, discarded, and forgotten without pause, without faltering. 

"Tomorrow," Charley said to Julie as she rolled the plastic ring between the fingers of her right hand, "is going to be a good day." 

"I think so," Julie said. "Especially if it starts with deep-fried scrapple and UFOs, man."

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested in Mr. Trash Wheel, he is on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MrTrashWheel) and [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/simwis72). Professor Trash Wheel has her own erudite [feed](https://twitter.com/ProfTrashWheel). 
> 
> The Inner Harbor awaits the return of the [python](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkNOE5gCBnk), as has been foretold since time immemorial.


End file.
